


Crossing Over

by Pearls1975



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:56:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearls1975/pseuds/Pearls1975
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Miles Edgeworth and Sherlock Holmes know each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White Blank Page

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors notes: Before you start reading, be aware that is a cross-over of BBC Sherlock and The Ace Attorney Games. It is very AU, and Miles might be out of character; I haven't written him in so long. Notes are continued in the notes section below.

Miles Edgeworth pulled the blanket closer as he listened to the wind drive the rain into the window of his flat. Grey light from the half opened curtain washed over him and he slumped into his chair, an action he would normally yell at other people for doing. Miles hated that he let the depression take over his life. His pride wouldn't let him go see a doctor or therapist to get help. He knew he would feel better if he did, but he also couldn't stand the thought of walking around in a haze of fake happiness caused by pills. 

The shrill ring of his cell phone cut into his thoughts. He was surprised it still had any power. He couldn't remember the last time it was on the charger. Miles stared at the glow from the screen across the room until it stopped ringing.

'Good. I didn't want to talk to anyone anyway.' 

Five minutes later, his housekeeper, whom he didn't realize was in his flat, poked her head in his room. 

“I'm sorry to bother you sir,” she said in German. Miles turned to face her. She never spoke in German, unless it was important. “There is a man on the phone, says it's urgent that he speaks with you.”

Miles groaned, then answered back in German. “Did he say who he was?” 

“No, sir, just that he occupies a minor position in the British government.”

Miles smirked. 

“I must say, that is the first real emotion that you've expressed in a long time!” 

“Thank you Gerta,” Miles reached out his hand. “I will take it.”

Gerta rolled her eyes and picked up the handset that was on the small table next to Miles and handed it to him, then hung up her end.

“Really Miles,” the voice on the other end scolded. “I have to call your land line to talk to you? I'm surprised you even have that still hooked up!” 

“Always a treat to talk to you. I will find my cell and talk to you on that.” 

“I appreciate the discretion.” 

Miles hung up the handset and threw off his blanket. He sighed. His cell phone was across the room on a side table next to the window and it seemed so far away. 

He picked up the handset and dialed a number. Greta's voice came over the speaker.

“Greta, can you get my cell phone?”

“Where is it sir?” 

“On the side table, next to the window.”

“...”

“Greta? Are you still there?” 

Miles heard her sigh. “Sir, which table by which window?”

“The one here in my room.” 

“Sir, no.” 

She hung up on him.

He couldn't even muster the energy to be mad at her, even though she was the only one that ever said no to him. She stood her ground to him on her first day and it was then he knew she would be around for a very long time.

Miles rubbed his face in frustration. Why did Mycroft Holmes need to talk to him anyway? They barely spoke in five years.

Suddenly, his thoughts drifted to Mycroft's younger brother, Sherlock Holmes. They spent two years in college together before Miles's father moved him to another college. They met through Miles's Bull Terrier, Gladstone. Miles was reading in the courtyard, indulging in the quiet Sunday, and a little bit of Vitamin D, when a tall, lanky,dark-haired kid came running by and Gladstone chased his heels and bit him. The kid fell and Miles scolded Gladstone. Then he went over and inspected the kids heel.

“I'm really sorry about that.” Miles said as he stooped. “I think he was spooked.”

“Yeah, well, maybe he should be on a leash...” The kids statement drifted off and as he raised his head, Miles found himself lost in two amazing green-blue eyes he had ever seen. 

“You're in most of my criminal law classes aren't you?” The kid furrowed his brow at Miles and Miles could feel his cheeks warm,  
despite the cold weather. 

“Yes, I guess I am.” Miles gestured at the boy's leg. “May I? I have some knowledge on dog bites. I had to train Gladstone because he was a stray.” Miles rolled up his left sleeve and showed a scar that were in the shape of teeth. 

“Hmm...” Was all the other said. “I'll let you look at it if you help me to the infirmary afterward.” 

“Of course.” Miles said as he lifted the others pant leg. “My name is Miles, by the way.” 

“Sherlock Holmes.” 

“Gladstone just nipped you. You will be fine.” Miles brought out a handkerchief and pressed it on the bite. Then with his other hand pointed. “My dorm is just over there. It's closer than the clinic, I can clean and dress it there.” 

Sherlock searched Miles's expression for any signs of sarcasm. Miles looked away under the intense scrutiny of the others stare. 

“Or I can just help you across campus-”

“No, your dorm is fine.” Sherlock shook his head and Miles stood and held his hand out to Sherlock. He was just about to take Miles's hand when Gladstone approached and licked Sherlocks face and nudged his arm. 

“I think he's trying to apologize. Sorry about that.” Miles bit his lip to keep from laughing. 

Sherlock wiped the dog slobber from his face with the sleeve of his hoody that he was wearing under a black suit jacket. He took Miles's hand and stood up.

“Where were you going in such a hurry anyway?” Miles asked.

“Off to church.”

“Oh, I didn't peg you as the religious type.” 

 

Miles's cell phone broke into his daydream. He rubbed his face again and sighed. He hadn't thought of Sherlock since he'd been with Phoenix. That thought alone was enough to shoot him out of his chair and over to his phone. He didn't need to be brooding over Phoenix. 

Miles laughed out loud when he found his phone plugged into the charger. He unplugged it as he answered it. 

“Miles, your lethargy is very unbecoming of you.” He cringed at the sound of Mycrofts voice. 

“How's the diet, Mycroft?” Miles smirked and he could practically hear the other's face getting red with anger at the other end.

“I see you've been speaking with my brother?”

Miles stopped pacing. “No, I can honestly say I haven't spoke with him in, well, quite a while.”

“Listen Miles, I need you to do something for me.”

“That doesn't surprise me.” Miles said as he looked out his window.

“What doesn’t?”

“It's what you and your brother do best, use people.”

“I'm not sure what you are getting at, so I will pass over it. I have someone that I need you to hide for me.”

Miles furrowed his brow in confusion. “Hide for you? I'm not the cleaners-”

“She needs to have a new identity and now that I've heard that you haven't talked with Sherlock in quite a while, I believe I've made the best decision in calling you for this.”

Miles was so confused he couldn't respond.

“Miles? Are you still there?”

“Yes, but why me again?”

“I realize I have good connections in the States, but no one would expect to look where you would hide her. I suspect no one even knows our connection, Miles.”

“Sometimes I forget.” 

“She was carrying very dangerous information with her; information about high British officials etc., and now she's been disarmed, so to say. She was also a Dominatrix.”

“That's...an interesting cover-up for a spy.”

“Oh no, she wasn't a spy. She just happened upon this information. I'm afraid now that she has given up this information, she will be hunted for her life.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Miles walked over to his nightstand and picked up his cloves and a lighter and lit up one before he continued. “This woman happened upon some information as she was working as a Dominatrix...she had pictures of higher-ups in compromising situations, and someone hired her to blackmail these people?” 

“No it was a lot more complicated than that. I really do not want to talk about it over the phone.” Mycroft paused. “Please, Miles, I need this from you.”

Miles took a drag from the clove and contemplated the conversation. 

“What's in it for me?”

“You will be paid handsomely for her accommodations and whatever you need to get her to her destination.”

“Okay, there's always something else. It's never that easy, especially with you.”

“Now you sound like you are talking about Manfred.” Mycroft said.

“I don't speak of...him anymore.” Miles drew a long drag off his clove.

“Well, what about Sherlock? What if I told you you're going to have to protect him, again, in the near future?”

Miles stiffened. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face Sherlock again; that wound was just starting to form a scar on his soul. 

“Has he...cleaned up?” Miles asked in a low voice, afraid the world might hear all about his indiscretions in that one sentence. 

“Yes, well, as far as I can tell. John won't tell me anything, and Sherlock wouldn't admit to using anyway. If he is, he's doing outside the flat where I can't see.”

“Ahh,” Miles said and took the last puff of the clove and started digging for his long-lost ashtray. “Still playing the role of Big Brother, literally and figuratively?”

“It has to be done Miles. I have to keep track of him. There are things...there are people out to get him, and I'm not sure why yet.” 

“Hmmm, you've had that conspiracy for a while now. Don't you think it's high time you let it go, Mycroft?” 

“No. Plus, John seems to keep him occupied.” 

“I bet he does...” Miles found his ashtray and snuffed out the clove, when something occurred to him. “Wait, who's John?”

“Doctor John Hamish Watson. Fresh from Afghanistan. Moved in with Sherlock after meeting a mutual friend.”

“Are they-”

“Lovers? No. But they act as if they've known each other for longer than they have. I'm not sure what keeps John there, besides the fact he craves adventure.”

“If he has this John guy, why the hell does he need me? He threw our friendship away a long time ago.” 

“You two were more than friends.” 

Miles bit his lip. He was trying hard to forget that. All the memories of those two torrid years came screaming back to him, and hit him like a freight train on a collision course with a truck. He fell down into his couch. 

“Are you alright Miles?”

The gray-haired man drew in a deep breath. 

“Yeah, I'll be alright.” 

“I'm afraid Sherlock will be in over his head soon, and he won't have John to turn to.”

Miles rested his chin on his chest. He felt defeated. He couldn't help but compare what Mycroft said to his current situation. He hated the fact that he had to fake his own suicide just to run away and find himself; to find what it means to be a prosecutor.

“Miles I have been keeping track of Sherlock and all the people he's had contact with since our parents died.” 

“How did you know...never mind.” Miles let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. “I'm not proud of what I did.”

“You would be surprised the amount of information I have on you and your family and your surrogate family. You were one of the only friends that Sherlock had that he would talk about in length. He was afraid. Afraid of what you represented, afraid of what you would do if he told you-” Mycroft broke himself off. “Well, I won't get into that. You will see him in the next few months. You two can talk about it. Tell me something Miles-”

“Yes, I did love him. Maybe not an everlasting, happy ever after love, but maybe, just a burning desire to have someone love me back sort of thing. He showed it many times, but he never said it.” 

“Hum,” Mycroft paused as he took all that in. “I see.” 

“What, is that too deep for you to process? You are the Ice Man after all.” 

Miles thought he heard Mycroft say something, but he couldn't make it out.

Miles sighed.

“I have nothing better to do than brood. I will do this for you, but I will not enjoy it.”

“Thank you Miles. You will receive an encoded text on all the details.”

“Yeah, you're welcome.” Miles started to hang up, then paused. “Mycroft?”

“Yes, Miles?”

“Can you do something for me?”

“It depends.”

Miles shook his head. 

“Will you give me notice before Sherlock comes barreling down to Germany to see me?”

“I can't guarantee anything. When everything goes down, I'm not sure what the hell is going to happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline of this is way skewed. I put The Ace Attorney universe back to current time, instead of in the future. Miles has been in Germany for about 4-5 months. Whose to say that he didn't have days where he would sulk around his bedroom or his flat. Also, to put a twist on things, I wanted them to be in college together. That part is based on ACD cannon where Holmes runs into the only other friend he had in college.


	2. Conversations WIth the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You seem like a trustworthy man, Miles. If you promise not to speak it outside of this flat, I will tell you my real name." She stared into her glass as a faraway look came over her pretty face. "It'll be nice to be called by my real name."
> 
> "I promise." Miles said before taking a drink.
> 
> "Irene Adler."

Greta was all too thrilled when Miles finally pulled himself together and took a shower and actually groomed himself two days later. He dressed casually in a white button down shirt and dark blue suit-jacket with faded dark blue jeans. They were the only pants that he could find that fit his wiry frame. He hadn't realized how much weight he had lost in the past couple months. And, as he brushed his teeth, he tried to recall the last time he ate. He looked up at himself in the mirror for the first time and was shocked at what he saw there. Dark circles under his eyes and sunken cheeks. His hair hung lifelessly around his face. The last time he saw that face was two months before Manfred pulled him from Cambridge; the only time he was grateful to the bastard. 

As his fingertips stroked his own cheeks, Miles's mind suddenly flashed back to Cambridge and tending Sherlock's ankle. 

“Ohh, that stings,” Sherlock hissed and flinched.

“Sorry,” Miles brow was furrowed in concentration as he dabbed at the bite with cotton balls and peroxide.

“So...” Sherlock started to get his mind off the pain as he looked around Miles's tiny room. “Are you a freshman? Or just new?” 

“Neither.” Miles carefully lined the bandage up to cover the awkward shaped dog bite. “I'm a Sophomore, in the academic sense.”

“What? Where's all of your posters and pictures?” 

Miles met Sherlock's inquisitive gaze.

“I don't understand? What does that have to do with what year I am?”

Miles's hand lingered on Sherlock's leg and the weight of it was comforting somehow.

“Most students have posters on their walls and pictures of their families,” Sherlock pointed at the walls. “You only have books lying around and,” he squinted at the back of the door. “Is that an Anna Karenina movie poster?” 

Miles glanced at the back of the door. The small red patch that formed on Miles's cheeks was not lost on Sherlock. “She reminds me of what my mother looks like in my dreams.” Miles cleared his throat and started to tend to the bite again. Long pale fingers came into his vision as he looked up into a pair of sympathetic blue eyes. Sherlock's hand was cold.

“I lost my mother when I was really young. I understand what it means to see what you miss in your dreams.”

Miles opened his mouth to say something, but it caught in his throat. He looked for any signs of sarcasm or mocking, and found none. He hoped that this man couldn't hear his heart trying to beat it's way out of his chest.

Sherlock smiled, and Miles thought it might be the second most beautiful thing he would ever see. 

“You should come to church with me.” Sherlock's voice crashed through Miles reverie like a bull in a china shop. 

“I-I'm not a religious man. I don't practice any religion.” Miles looked down at his hand. Sherlock pulled his away, and Miles missed the weight of it already. 

“Oh, I don't go there to worship or anything,” Sherlock shook his head slightly. “It's quieter than the library and I get a lot of reading done there.” 

Miles pondered his statement, then smirked. “Huh, guess I never thought of it before.” 

“Not many do,” the dark haired man shifted. “Am I good?” 

Miles furrowed his brow at the other and he gestured to the bite.

“Oh, heh, yes,” Miles lifted his hand off Sherlock's leg, and for the second time, felt the heat rise to his cheeks. Sherlock smirked internally at him, but couldn't figure out the slight emptiness that filled him when Miles lifted his hand off his leg. Sherlock stood and dusted himself off and grabbed his leather messenger bag. Then, held his hand out to help Miles up off the floor. Miles smiled his appreciation, and when he wrapped his hand around the others, a spark seemed to surge through his body. He thought he saw Sherlock flinch, but couldn't be positive. He let go and sighed as an uncomfortable silence passed between them.

“I should...I should go,” Sherlock sniffed and started out. He turned suddenly before exiting the room and bent to let Gladstone sniff his hand. The pup sniffed then licked Sherlock's hand and the man scratched the pup behind his ears. He stood and started out of the room.

“Wait!” Miles called and the dark-haired man stopped. “I'll go with you.” 

 

Miles suddenly found himself standing on the curb outside his flat, hailing a cab. He blinked, trying to recall the past few minutes, but the only thing he could recall was the daydream he just experienced. He bit his lip and looked back at the building that his flat was housed in as a cab pulled up in front of him and he got in. 

Forty-Five minutes later, Miles was standing in the airport, holding a sign with the name 'Clara Burton' written on it. Mycroft had given him a description of the woman he was looking for, and it didn't do justice to the real person. He watched as the woman made her way down the crowded stairs. She had an elegant air about her as she smiled at him. Her auburn hair fell in loose curls past her shoulders and she was dressed simply in a dark blue over coat and glossy blue heels. 

“Miles Edgeworth, I assume?” She asked as she approached him.

“Yes. It's very nice to meet you.” Miles held his hand out and shook her hand. 

“You as well,” she smiled at him and her blue eyes seemed to sparkle as he held his elbow out for her to hold. “I was surprised when Mycroft got a hold of me and told me about you. I didn't think he cared.” 

“Heh, well, the Holmes brothers are a strange lot. Do you have any bags checked?”

“No, I actually don't. I have everything in here.” She patted the large leather tote that she had slung over her shoulder. Miles detected a sad note in her voice. “You know both Holmes brothers?”

“Yes. I met Sherlock in college, but haven't seen him since then. Mycroft had come to my dorm room one evening demanding that I watch over his brother only three days after I had met Sherlock. He even offered to pay me, but I refused.” Miles stopped himself before he started talking about his relationship with Sherlock with a stranger.

“You refused money from Mycroft?” 

“It...there's a whole story behind it that is way too long to tell. And complicated.” 

Clara glanced at Miles. He was a handsome man, but there was a sadness about him. Like he had just lost someone or something close to him. She wasn't going to pry; it wasn't her business, nor her style anymore. 

The drive back to Miles's flat was full of small talk and a detour to show Clara a couple of his favorite places in Berlin. 

“Your name isn't Clara is it?” Miles said a half an hour later as they sat in front of the fire place in his flat. He wrapped his hands around a glass of scotch. 

“You've pieced things together I take it?” She smiled at him before she took a drink of her scotch. 

“Yes, Mycroft told me the basics, just not your real name.” 

“You seem like a trustworthy man, Miles. If you promise not to speak it outside of this flat, I will tell you my real name.” She stared into her glass as a faraway look came over her pretty face. “It'll be nice to be called by my real name.”

“I promise.” Miles said before taking a drink. 

“Irene Adler.” 

Miles studied her. “That's a beautiful name. I read about you in the rags. I may have visited your website a couple times before it was taken down.” 

Irene's eyebrows shot up. “You don't seem the type of man that would be interested in what my website offered. Although, I stopped being surprised after I serviced the CEO of a major baking firm in London.”

“It was more curiosity than anything else. I wanted to see the woman who beat Sherlock Holmes at his own game.” 

“How much of that do you know about?” Irene shifted in her seat as Miles stood and walked over to the window. He peeked out at the busy street below, then grabbed a clove out of its' pack, offering Irene one and she gestured her refusal. 

“I read John Watson's blog, and a couple of news clippings.” He said after he lit the clove and took a deep drag. 

Irene sighed. “He really is a genius of sorts. He is very emotionally detached. It was hard breaking his shell, and I think that I only got through one layer. Something tells me that John knows the real Sherlock Holmes; the one behind all the deductions and clever rationalizations.” 

“How close are Sherlock and John?” 

“Well, a lot closer than either of them will ever admit. I think Sherlock would kill for John and vice-versa. In fact, I know John killed someone defending Sherlock. Sherlock told me one evening, the same evening I broke through the one layer. He said that he had been tracking a serial killer and almost ended up a victim himself. A shot was fired with only the precision and accuracy that a soldier would have. John Watson was a soldier in Afghanistan. A medic to be exact.” She paused and took a drink. “They had only known each other for 72 hours and John Watson saved Sherlock.” 

“He has that effect on people.” Miles said quietly, taking another deep drag on his clove. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” Miles shook his head and turned his gaze out the window. 

“You were involved with Sherlock somehow weren't you?” 

Miles turned to face Irene and gave her a sad smile, then finished his scotch. “Would you like some more?” 

“Yes please, and I will take a clove, if you don't mind.” Irene stood and walked over to Miles and gently grabbed his wrist. “Then you are going to tell me about you and Sherlock Holmes.” 

Miles started when the woman grabbed his wrist. His eyes met her intense blue ones and he opened his mouth to say something, but chuckled softly instead. Irene furrowed her brow in confusion. 

“Heh, we might be up all night then.” 

“I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. Unless you have me booked on the next flight to L.A.?” 

It was Miles's turn to look at her in confusion. She smiled a sly smile.

“I did my homework as well, Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth.”

“Let me grab the bottle of Scotch and another pack of cloves. These aren't easy memories.” 

Irene gave his wrist a small squeeze before she let go. “I'm sorry. I have a tendency to come across very forceful and nosy. You don't have to tell me.”

“No, it'll be good to finally get everything off my chest.” He nodded at her. Irene wrapped her arms around herself as she watched him walk out of the room. 

'Nothing is ever easy with Sherlock.' She thought as she shivered.


	3. Love Is A Dangerous Disadvantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Miles Edgeworth and Sherlock Holmes know each other. Irene enters the picture and forces Miles to tell her about his past with Sherlock. Miles tells Irene about walking out of the Prosecutor's office.

Miles had never told his history with Sherlock Holmes to anyone, not even Phoenix Wright. The time he spent with the man with the brilliant mind was simultaneously the best and the worst of his life. As he recounted, the irony of the statement kept coming back to him. 

“So, what happened after he convinced you to go to the church?” Irene inhaled the last of the clove. The dim lighting and the warmth of the fire reminded her of the evening she almost broke through a layer of Sherlock Holmes. Irene hated that she was attracted to the clever man in the silly little hat. But she knew, as soon as she escaped out of her own bathroom window that day, she would not stop thinking about Sherlock. 

Miles smiled a small smile as he took a drink of his whiskey. He grabbed another clove and lit it as he watched Irene's gaze turn thoughtfully into the yellow flames of the fire. 

“We sat near the back of the church,” Miles started. “There were only three other people there; two of them were students, and one was a professor. A math professor that I had one class a couple semesters previous. He survived a tragic family car accident and I often observed him slipping into the church at random times. He was sitting at the front of the church when we arrived and to this day, I swear I can still hear his heartbreaking sobs.” Miles paused. Irene drank her scotch, quietly waiting for Miles to continue. 

And he did with a sigh. “Sherlock broke out a composition book and a pen and started scribbling in the book so fast I thought he was going to start it on fire. I tried to see what he was writing, but he was sitting just right, I couldn't see anything. I pulled out my law book and started reading.”

“'Do you believe in God?' he whispered to me a minute later. I had to glance at him to make sure he had actually asked me a question. He turned away as soon as I looked over. 

'No,' I started. 'At least not in the conventional God that this church represents.' 

'Do you believe in any religion?' 

'I was adopted into a very strict family. But religion wasn't part of their routines. My real father was a fairly devoted Christian, I guess. I remember going to church every Sunday with him and not having any interest in the least. I didn't want to disappoint him, so I faked it pretty good for a seven year old.'

There was a comfortable silence as I glanced over at him again. He was staring at the alter at the front of the church. I studied his profile; coming to the conclusion that maybe his nose was a little too big for his features or his hair was way too curly. But, you put all the elements together on this man, and they were attractive.

'Stop staring,' he whispered.

'Sorry, I...' 

'I'm a freak. I know, you don't have to remind me.'

And he stood, leaving me behind, confused and unsure of myself.”

“What did you do? Did you go after him?” Irene asked after Miles paused. 

Miles inhaled the clove and took a drink of his scotch. He wasn't sure if it was the scotch or the next memory he was about to tell that was making him flush.

“I ran after him,” Miles said after clearing his throat. “And found him in the same courtyard where Gladstone had bit him. He was staring up at the gray sky. 

'Sherlock,' I said to him. 'I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend you back there. I don't think you're a freak. I don't know you that well.'

“I didn't get a chance to finish my last statement because he placed a hand over my mouth and shushed me. I'm not sure why, but his touch sent an electric shock through me. My body betrayed me with a shiver. If Sherlock noticed, it was only briefly and with a glance.” Miles took a drink. “He stared intently at a tree that was nearby, and I finally understood what he was doing. I heard the unique call of a bird that I can't recall now, and Sherlock closed his eyes and started mumbling.”

'It wasn't possible for Professor Foster to have been in the courtyard three days ago.'

“His eyes flew open and darted around the courtyard. I tried to follow, not sure what we were looking for and Sherlock turned his gaze upward again. 

I heard whispers that weren't Sherlock's come from behind us and I suddenly became uncomfortable with his hand still over my mouth. I cleared my throat and he started as he looked at me.”

'Oh,' was all he said as he pulled his hand away from my face. I straightened my jacket as he looked down at his shoes then across the courtyard. 

'I...um, I like to think in the church and you were a sounding board.' 

'Okay, so what were you thinking so hard about?' I asked, running a hand through my hair. 

“He kept looking up at the tree and back across the courtyard.” 

'Have you heard about the professor that was supposedly having an affair with one of her students?'

'Yes. Her first day on trial was yesterday. I have to sit in observation for one of my classes.'

“Sherlock turned his gaze on me, studying me like a specimen under a microscope. I held his gaze as long as I could before I turned away and fidgeted with my books.” 

'There was no way that Professor MacMillian could have been in that class room at the time Professor Foster claimed he saw her.' He pointed up at the tree. 'That particular species of bird only sings during mating season, which, for them starts today.'

'I'm not sure if I follow where you are going with this?' 

'Of course not,' I thought I heard him mumble, then aloud he said: 'The student and Foster mentioned hearing birds chirping and it was a particularly warm day for winter and the professor had her window open.'

“I started to say something, when the pieces fell into place. I looked up at Sherlock and he was smirking at me.” Miles paused to take another drink and grab a clove.

“He smirked?” Irene asked as she took the clove that Miles offered.

“Yes, and he has, or had, a gorgeous smile. It would completely light up his face.”

“Oh,” Irene looked out the window, her brow furrowed.

“What's wrong?” 

She took a deep breath. “I don't think I saw him smile, at all. Nothing genuine, anyway.” 

Miles took a deep inhale of his clove to hide the blush that was starting to form on his cheeks. “It was rare that I would see him smile.

Anyway, I followed him to the library, where he looked up the bird on the computer and also referenced some books. I, in the meantime, tried to concentrate on my law books, but ended up just staring at him, over my law books, of course. The way he poured himself into the research with such intensity and passion was, well, it kind of left me breathless. And maybe a bit turned on. But I wasn't sure what I was feeling at that time. I had never had a true relationship, and the only thing that I had found to really stir my passions at the time were law and the orchestra pit in the theater department.”

Irene laughed. “What? Did you have a tryst in the orchestra pit?” 

“Heh, no nothing so scandalous. I had a small crush on one of the boys that played cello.” Miles took a drink. 

The woman raised an eyebrow. “How long have you known you were gay?”

Miles placed a thoughtful finger on his temple. “Probably since I was really young and never developed any real feelings for anyone, well, any females, anyway.” 

Irene hummed to try to prompt him to go on.

“I need more scotch,” he said as he stood and headed for the liquor cabinet. Irene caught his wrist as he passed. 

“You don't have to tell me the details.” She drank the last drops in her glass and handed it to him. 

“It's alright.” Miles looked into their empty glasses as he ran a thumb along the rim of one. “All of my passion was wrapped up in two people. Now that they are not in my life anymore, my passion is...lost.” 

He took a deep breath and continued on to the liquor cabinet. 

“Don't you have the law? Isn't that a passion for you?” Irene said as she stood. 

She saw Mile's shoulders tense as he stopped in mid-pour. She heard him clear his throat. 

She cursed herself inwardly as she closed her eyes tightly. Then aloud she said: “That was uncalled of me. I apologize. I need to use the powder room.” 

Irene left the room before Miles could respond, and realized she didn't know where the lavatory was. She walked down one direction in the hall, testing all the doors and finally coming across one that was unlocked. Opening the door, she realized that it wasn't a bathroom, but a bedroom, and stepped back out. She would have time to explore later. Irene glanced back at Miles as he grinned and gestured with his thumb to the other side of the hall. She nodded her thanks and found the door. 

Miles was watching the rain fall outside his window when Irene walked down the hall. The warm light from the fire and the colorful lights from the street lights below, gave Miles's profile a very strange and eerily familiar feel. She could see why Sherlock fell for this man. His style, his casual wit and elegant taste in everything gave him an air of rich and intellectual beauty. But, Irene could tell he had been hiding from something, or someone for a while. 

“So, what happened to your passion?” She said softly as she walked up to him, her arms wrapped around herself. 

Miles looked back at her and smiled. “How is it that you've gotten me to open up so much tonight? Phoe-” Miles stopped himself before he could get the whole name out. He swallowed and Irene raised an eyebrow. “My best friend had the same openness about him. But he doesn't know about Sherlock. He deserves better than to know about that dark part of my life.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Irene shivered and stepped closer to the fire as he rubbed her arms. 

“Would you like a blanket?” Miles set his whiskey down and walked to the tiny closet just off the hallway that Irene just walked down. He walked back with a thick, dark, wool blanket and wrapped it around Irene's shoulders. She hummed her approval.

“Your best friend is a lucky man to have such a wonderful person in their lives.” Irene bit her lip. She didn't want to pry, but she was fascinated by this man who Sherlock had a relationship with, who was just as broken as Sherlock was.

“We don't...I'm not...”

Irene pulled the blanket closer to her and as she turned, she saw Miles covering his eyes with his hand and taking deep breaths. She placed a hand on his arm. 

“Miles, I know I've pushed you a lot tonight, but it seems you need to talk. Maybe about this, as well.” 

Miles brought his hand down and looked at Irene with the saddest gray eyes she had ever seen.

“I... am afraid.” He sighed. “I went for so long thinking I was perfect with a perfect win record, using dirty tactics and lies to get the win no matter the cost. I was selfish and it was brewed from a family with a selfish background, and a hunger to win and to be perfect. I grew up in that poisonous environment and didn't know any better.” Miles shook his head. He wasn't sure if the whiskey was finally catching up with him, or if reliving the memories was making his head spin. Smiling a small smile at Irene, he decided it was reliving the memories making his head spin and reached for his glass and pack of cloves. 

“Then, this man comes along and stood fast against that selfish me. I fought him in my usual manner; lies and dirty underhanded tricks. But he fought back, and I tasted my first defeat.” Miles lit a clove and grabbed a small round table and set it in front of the fireplace. He then grabbed the two closest chairs and pulled them closer to the fireplace. He smiled and gestured for Irene to sit as he sat in his chair. 

Irene watched him as she sat in the chair across from him. 

“I felt like I had lost everything because of that man. We had gone to primary school together in the States and he had gotten under my skin then, but in a good way. He always looked for the good in others. Twenty years later, he hadn't changed. In fact, he was more passionate than I had ever seen anyone before. I was suddenly in the defendant's chair, and he saved me. I was saved by that person I had called my 'Enemy'. I couldn't forgive myself for everything that had happened. So I left the Prosecutors office and left a note...'Prosecutor Edgeworth chooses death.'” Miles ended with a sigh as he ran his finger along the edge of his glass. 

“Why did he choose to save you? Why didn't he just turn his back on you?” Irene asked as she tucked the blanket around her feet. 

“I don't know. I have always treasured my wins, no matter the outcome and no matter who I hurt in the process. And I started to hurt him with everything that I could put forth. But he somehow defeated me. He gave me my first loss and I-” Miles swallowed hard. 

 

“I feel like I've lost my passion because I lost to him.”

“Do you feel like you let him down?” Irene took a drink of the amber liquid.

“I-” Miles looked up at the woman, his brow furrowed. “I never thought about it that way before.”

“How well did you know him in Primary School?”

“We were around each other constantly. If I wasn't at his house, he was at mine. We made every excuse to spend the night at each others houses because we reached a point where we couldn't sleep without having each other in the same room. We would sneak into each others beds after the lights were turned out and just talk, or sing each other to sleep.” Miles chuckled. “We woke up one morning spooning each other-”

Irene saw the blush make it's way across Miles's cheeks and smiled and took another drink. 

Miles's eyes moved to Irene's. “I was...and perhaps I still am...”

“Hmm...” Irene said thoughtfully as she set her glass down. 

“I feel the same passion for Phoenix as I did with Sherlock, but Phoenix...he doesn't know the man he makes me want to be, I am afraid of not being that man. I didn't want to disappoint him.”

“I believe you already may have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.”  
> ― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones


End file.
